Brass and Brazen
by whoa nellie
Summary: A man, a woman, a bar.


Title: Brass and Brazen   
Author: Whoa Nellie (whoa_nellie40@hotmail.com)   
Series: TNG   
Rating: R   
Codes: Picard / Vash   
Synopsis: A man, a woman, a bar. PWP - Plot and plot! What is plot?! This story takes place sometime after "The Answer" in the "Reasons of the Heart" timeline. However, it does stand on it's own. 

As always: Paramount owns all the marbles. We just have a lot more fun playing with them.   
Feedback is always appreciated - posted or e-mail. 

* Originally posted to ASC on Jun 6, 2001, this story has been edited down from NC-17 to an R-rated version for Fanfiction.net. If you are over 18 and prefer to read the original version, it and our other Picard/Vash stories can be found at our website listed on our author page. 

BRASS AND BRAZEN 

'Merde, I'm too old for this type of place,' Captain Jean-Luc Picard thought as he looked around the bar on Starbase 153. The establishment, applying the term very loosely, was the usual combination of watering hole and meat market that had always made homes on or near military installations. He had spent the last twelve weeks, at the request of Admiral Ryan Finch, teaching combat field maneuvers to the latest class from Starfleet's Advanced Tactical Training School. As loud music pounded in the background, he sat at a small table with a few of the other senior officers who had helped supervise the training. The admiral's voice caught his attention. 

"Jean-Luc, I want to thank you for taking Captain Nichal's place on such short notice." 

"You're welcome, Admiral," Picard replied with a smile. He couldn't help thinking how the Admiral's stout frame and jocular manner belied his amazingly-honed tactical abilities. "Though, I must admit I'm looking forward to returning to my command." 

"I'm sure the bridge of the Enterprise isn't the only thing he is looking forward to seeing," the brash, young Captain Donald Juan quipped with a knowing chuckle. 

"That's right, Picard; I heard you're getting married," Captain Lawrence Jono said. He drained his glass and put it down on the table. The burly man tugged thoughtfully on his red beard. "I must admit, I've been curious about the woman that finally managed to ensnare the old 'burrhog' himself." 

"So am I," added Dane Ashby, another young captain whose blue eyes, blond hair and Nordic good looks made him popular with women. 

Before Picard could respond, Juan jumped in, cocking his head and arching his eyebrows appreciatively. "You'd like her, Dane. She's a pretty, little brunette number. We're talking a total knock-out." 

"Professor Vash heads up the Enterprise's archaeology department," Picard informed them, stressing her other attributes. "She is an expert in interstellar archaeology and a brilliant scientist." 

Juan raised his nearly-empty whiskey glass to Picard in a mock toast, "If old Professor Galen had looked like your Professor Vash maybe I would have shown up to his class more often." 

"What's the matter, Don? The pasting he gave you and your team on the field wasn't enough? Are you trying to get the man to kill you?" Admiral Finch chuckled. 

"Admiral, this goes back to the reception ending last year's command conference on Yegara," Captain Morgan Bateson laughed as he returned with the third round of drinks. "Little Donny spent the whole evening throwing himself so hard at the future Mrs. Picard that I thought the boy was going to seriously injure himself." 

Gesturing to a now very amused Picard and Bateson, Juan huffed in exasperation, "I had no idea who she was and the two of them just stood by and watched me go down in flames." 

"It was good for you; builds character," Picard defended himself before taking a drink of his Aldebaran whiskey. 

With a whistle of admiration, Jono nodded toward the entrance of the bar. "Gentlemen, check out the vision of loveliness who just walked in." 

"Hello there, beautiful lady," Ashby echoed Jono's sentiments. "Do those legs go all the way up?" 

Curiosity got the better of Bateson and he turned to look. As he recognized her, he groaned, "Here we go again." 

Juan gave a wicked grin, "Gentlemen, you might as well just plan on keeping your pips zipped because that just happens to be Picard's brilliant scientist." 

"Vash is on the Enterprise," Picard asserted as he twisted in his chair to look toward the entrance. She stood poised, her dark hair falling softly to her shoulders, framing her delicate features. The very short, hot pink dress she was scarcely wearing clung to her perfect curves. It looked as if she had painted it on. The plunging scoop neckline displayed an audacious amount of cleavage. The straps of her high-heeled, pink pumps drew attention down to her slender ankles. Helplessly, Picard's gaze slowly traveled up the shapely length of her legs, which were encased in a shimmery mist of silk stockings. 

Stepping into the room, she glanced around. The bar wasn't the seediest place she'd ever been, but it definitely constituted a dive. Four young men, most likely Starfleet cadets on leave, at a nearby dom-jot table interrupted their game to gape. 'Down, boys,' she thought with a smile. 'You have absolutely no idea who you're looking at.' Even in a room of wall-to-wall people containing a sea of uniforms she located her prey fairly quickly. His natural, commanding presence was apparent in the way he carried himself. The Starfleet uniform, black with slate grey shoulders and burgandy tunic, emphasized his sleek, muscular build. His surprise at her appearance was plainly written on his handsome, chiseled features. As his gaze slowly traveled over her, the carnal heat that smoldered in his steel grey eyes was unmistakable. When his attention finally returned to her face, a mischievous sparkle lit her blue eyes and she seductively mouthed, 'Hello.' 

As she began to cross the bar toward him, her innately sensual, graceful movements fell in perfect time with the beat of the music. Alarm bells went off in Picard's head, this was Vash at her most brazenly vampish. Taking a deep breath, Picard quickly spotted Commander Geordi LaForge. He tapped his communicator, "Mr. LaForge, the short version please." 

"Yes, sir," Geordi couldn't quite contain the smile. "We got word that you were safely back on base. She went to see Commander Riker and the Commander caved. Since I was passing by this way to meet my Dad for shore leave, I offered to play escort." 

"Thank you, Commander. I'll take it from here," Picard replied good-naturedly. 

"Aye, sir. Good-night." With that LaForge left the bar. 

As Vash approached the table, all the men stood. Giving her most irresistible smile, she greeted them, "Gentlemen." 

"What are you doing here?" Picard chuckled with gentle exasperation. He had to admit that he was delighted to see her. He had missed her greatly; however, his lovely imp had taken him completely by surprise and that never boded well for him. 

The diamonds in her engagement ring caught the light as she reached up to leisurely trace the pips on his collar. Her voice was low and seductive. "Looking for you, of course." 

"Would you please join us Professor?" the Admiral offered her the chair between Picard and himself. 

"Thank you, Admiral," Vash replied as she sat down. 

Picard's attention was drawn to the way the hem of her skirt rose ever so slightly as she crossed her long legs. Just out of the corner of his eye, he caught Captain Ashby desperately trying to act as if he wasn't noticing her legs. Amused, Picard remembered the younger captain's reaction as Vash walked into the bar and thought to himself, 'Yes, Dane, those legs do indeed go all the way up.' 

After the introductions as the men returned to their seats, she asked, "So, how does a girl get a drink around here?" 

"You have but to ask," Bateson answered with a smile. "What would the lady like?" 

"A stiff nipple, please." 

Nearly choking on his drink, Picard sputtered, "A what?" 

"It's a Risan sunset with a shot of tequila," Vash explained, careful to keep a straight face. Jean-Luc was utterly adorable when he was flabbergasted. She so enjoyed pushing this man's buttons. "Deanna loves them. She usually has two." 

Picard decided there wasn't enough latinum in the quadrant to make him touch that. 

"Thank you." Vash smiled as Bateson handed her a drink. Casting a quick covetous glance at Jean-Luc, she inquired, "So have you gentlemen enjoyed storming castles and torturing poor junior officers over the past dozen weeks or has there been a lot of bickering over who killed who?" 

"There's been some arguing on that subject, but for the most part a good time has been had by all," Admiral Finch chuckled with a glint in his eye. "Morgan and Jean-Luc seemed to be taking turns wiping out Don's and Dane's teams though." 

"Ah, yes, age and treachery beats the tar out of youth and enthusiasm," Bateson exchanged an amused look with Picard. 

"Every time," Picard deadpanned. 

Pulling his arm inside his jacket, Dane flailed the empty jacket sleeve about, "Twas only a fleshwound! Come back and fight!" 

With a guffaw, Jono declared, "Ashby, I think you're almost as drunk as I am." 

"Moving right along . . ." Bateson turned to Vash. "Professor, how are things onboard the Enterprise?" 

"As always, everything on the flagship is shipshape and bristol fashion," she replied as she set down her drink and folded her hands on the table demurely in front of her. Beneath the table, she surreptitiously used the toe of her high-heeled shoe to toy with Jean-Luc's trouser cuff. Giving him her most innocent look, she continued, "Although, Spot escaped two weeks ago and took a walk-about-tour of the ship." 

"Spot?" Finch asked, sounding confused. 

"Spot is an orange tabby cat belonging to my second officer," Picard did his best to concentrate on the Admiral's question. Due to the thickness of his boot, all he could feel was the slightest tug on his trouser leg. However, combined with the time they had spent apart and the fact that she was sitting there, within arms reach, dressed to thrill; it was enough to distract him. "And I take it the animal was quickly corralled." 

Vash nodded, "We found her in your readyroom. She was perched on the back of your desk chair fiendishly eyeing Livingston in his tank." 

"Livingston?" Jono set his drink aside. 

"Jean-Luc's Australian lionfish," she explained. 

"You have an Australian lionfish named Livingston and the android owns a cat named Spot?" Juan sounded dumbfounded. "Tell me, Jean-Luc, does Lewis Carroll help write your ship's logs?" 

"Q seems to be enough help," Vash chirped in response. 

"She knows Q?" the admiral cast a questioning glance at Picard. 

'Q, why did it always have to be Q that was brought up?' Picard groaned inwardly, realizing instantly where this train of conversation would go. Before he could respond, his lovely bride-to-be jumped in. 

"Quite well, actually. He gave me a whirlwind tour of the Gamma quadrant. Of course, that was only after he promised Jean-Luc I would not be harmed." With an impish smile, she teased. "Q was actually a bit of a mother hen. Looking back on it now, he was probably worried that if I came back with so much as a scratch he'd meet the same fate as poor Sir Guy." 

"Sir Guy?" Bateson's curiosity had been piqued. 

"It's a long story, Morgan," Picard tried to stall the conversation, knowing it was a hopeless cause. Vash took immense delight in retelling this particular anecdote and once she started there was no stopping her. 

"'Robin Hood' to be precise." Vash just couldn't help herself, she was having fun. "When Jean-Luc was a bit reluctant to admit his true feelings for me, Q conjured up a Robin Hood scenario where Sir Guy of Gisbourne held Maid Marian, yours truly, captive in the tower of Nottingham castle. As expected, the gallant captain performed quite heroically. . ." 

"It wasn't real, petite amie," Picard reminded her. 

"I'm sure that was a great consolation to Sir Guy as he slid off the business end of your broad sword, Mon Capitaine," Vash retorted with a regal toss of her hair and explained to the others, "Jean-Luc ran him through as they were dueling." 

"Over you," Juan finished, enjoying the way the lovely brunette could make Picard squirm. 

"Of course; what else would a Frenchman duel over besides love?" Vash looked over to gaze at Jean-Luc coquettishly through her lashes. 

Picard found himself captivated by her bedroom eyes and seductive expression. He longed to reach out and pull her into his arms, crushing her soft, supple curves hard against him. Her lush, rose-petal lips beckoned to him. He wanted to kiss her. 

Admiral Finch smiled into his drink. He wasn't sure if it was the young lady's eyes or her décolletage that Picard had fallen into, however it was obvious that the flagship captain was gone. A quick glance told him that Bateson and Jono had drawn the same conclusion. Setting down his glass, the admiral suggested, "I think it's time to call it a night." 

"Agreed," Bateson and Jono replied in unison, both of them standing as Finch did. 

"It's not that late," Ashby remarked. 

"It's past your bedtime, gentlemen," Finch said, leaning in between the two younger captains. He looked over at Picard and Vash and then pointedly at Ashby and Juan. "And boys, you're both very tired. Aren't you?" 

"Oh my, look at the time," Juan deadpanned with a large feigned yawn as both he and Ashby stood. The men made their way out of the bar, leaving Picard and Vash alone together for the first time in twelve weeks. 

"Your friends have all left," Vash observed playfully. 

"So it would seem." His eyes never leaving hers, Picard's voice was a deep, resonating whisper. "I want to kiss you." 

"Then why don't you. Nobody's paying any attention to us," she challenged, leaning in ever-so-slightly. Reaching out, she laid a hand over one of his. Idly, she stroked her fingertips up and down the length of his index finger. 

"You've held the undivided attention of every man in this bar since you first strutted in," he muttered as the subtle scent of her perfume and the soft brush of her fingertips began to wreak havoc on his senses. 

"Oh Please, Jean-Luc. In this place you could probably take me right here on the table and we'd only get a passing glance or two," Vash taunted in a lascivious tone lightly tracing the tip of his index finger. Her fingers took up a teasing rhythm as she resumed caressing his index finger. 

Flashing through Picard's mind was the erotic image of her on the table, her short skirt pushed up and her long legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Picard's heart rate sped up as his body leapt at the notion. All at once, he recognized the very familiar, tantalizing tempo of her fingers on his. The expression of playful mischief on her lovely face left no doubt at what she was insinuating. Leave it to this woman to figure out how to arouse him that way in public. His voice was rough with sexual frustration as he chastised, "Vash . . ." 

"Well maybe not on this table . . .but certainly one of those dark corner booths," Vash quipped. Thoroughly enjoying herself, she could see the lust smoldering in his steely grey eyes. Knowingly, she teased him, "But you thought about it, didn't you, Captain?" 

Swiftly, he captured her hand in his, putting an end to her provocative caress, and chuckled, "From the moment I met you I knew you were going to be trouble." 

"You look like a man who can handle trouble," she cooed the expected retort. Deciding to press her advantage, she shifted even closer to him, seductively wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and rasped breathlessly, "And after twelve weeks, I'm in desperate need of being handled." 

"Well, wench," he answered in a soft, baritone whisper with a hint of a smile on his face. "After your little show here, you're going to have to wait a little longer. I can't exactly stand and walk out of here in my current condition." 

"Don't you want to show everyone what a great captain's log you maintain?" Vash teased. 

"Bitch." 

"You say that like it's a bad thing." 

The look he shot back at her spoke volumes. 

"Deanna heard from her mother. Lwaxana has sworn off clothing entirely, some sort of Betazoid thing, I think. You'll see for yourself next week when she comes to visit. Oh, and she mentioned having some suggestions about the running of your ship." Seeing the expression on his face, she continued, "I'll bet we can leave now." 

"Yes, we're leaving now," Picard stood up. Helping her out of her chair, he whispered conspiratorially in her ear, "Before one of those dark corner booths begins to seem like a viable option." 

"Promises, promises," she quipped. 

Hesitating for a moment, he asked, "You did just make up that whole thing about Ambassador Troi, didn't you?" 

Her only responses were an arched eyebrow and an enigmatic shrug as she took his arm and led him out of the bar. 

............................................................. 

"Vash, there isn't much on this starbase," Picard cautioned her as they made their way down the corridor. "The quarters I've been assigned are very small and Enterprise isn't due for seventy-two hours." The simple accommodations he had requested for himself for the next three days were not up to the standard that he had made sure she had become accustomed to. 

"Those are seventy-two hours that I have you to myself," she countered with satisfaction as she caressed the steely bulge of his upper arm through his uniform sleeve. "Consider it a preemptive strike. We both know that once you return to the Enterprise you will spend at least seventy-two hours catching up on important ship's business." 

Reaching his assigned quarters, Picard tapped the keypad and the door slid open. As she preceded him into the room, he noticed her long shapely legs and the tantalizing sway of her hips. The muscles of his body tensed in an ardent response to the way her dress clung to the flair of her hips, the slimness of her waist and the graceful arch of her spine. 

The modest quarters had a replicator and small table with two chairs in one corner, a desk, and a standard-size bed with two nightstands. Just off from the sleeping area was a bathroom. After glancing around the cramped but tidy living space, Vash turned to him, "This isn't exactly a cave; although, it's not like we haven't been there done that. I'll admit it isn't the spacious captain's cabin on the Enterprise, but for what I have in mind . . ." 

She broke off with startled gasp when, without a word, Picard reached out and pulled her into his arms as the door snapped shut behind them. His arms encircled her tiny waist, his large hands finding the roundness of her derriere. Cupping the supple flesh in his hands, he yanked her roughly against him. His mouth descended on hers in a ravenous kiss. His tongue plunged past her parted lips, plundering the depths of her mouth. In a futile attempt to ease his desperate need for her, he forced her curves even tighter against him. 

Vash savored the feel of her body crushed against Jean-Luc's hard length. Her hands clutched his shoulders, feeling the sinewy muscles through his uniform and thrilling at the breadth of them compared to her tiny palms. Wanting more, she deepened the kiss, nudging her tongue past his in her own erotic search of his mouth. Her breasts pressed up against the expanse of his chest and her hardened nipples grazed solid muscle sending streaks of desire through her. The warmth of his strong hands through the thin material of her skirt was driving her to distraction. 

Picard felt the muscles of his body tense and his hardness grow with each passing moment. After her sultry performance in the bar earlier, his need was agonizing in its intensity. When the kiss was finally broken, they were both breathing unevenly. Tightening his hold on her, there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he rasped hoarsely into her mouth, "Damn tease. What am I going to do with you?" 

"I'd rather discuss what you're going to do 'to' me," Vash taunted breathlessly before crushing her lips to his in another impassioned kiss. As their tongues entangled, she pulled his tongue back into her mouth encouraging him to explore the deepest recesses. Her entire body flared into a highly charged state of anticipation as Jean-Luc's hands traveled possessively over her demanding access to every curve. She arched into the heaviness as his hands slid up to her breasts caressing them through her dress. Trying to gain control over her own increasing desires, she broke the kiss and braced her hands on his broad chest pushing herself away from him. Brazenly meeting his gaze, she took several steps backward toward the bed. Deftly undoing the zipper, she shrugged the dress from her shoulders deliberately slowing its fall, offering herself inch by inch. 

Picard's breath lodged in his throat as the dress slid down to expose a hot pink brassiere. The lush curves of her breasts appeared to overwhelm their satin confines. Swallowing hard, his gaze helplessly followed the dress as it slipped down her slender waist to reveal the creamy skin of her midriff and then past the feminine flare of her hips to unveil a skimpy pair of hot pink panties. The dress glided down the shapely length of her legs to the floor, leaving the bewitching vamp standing before him clad only in high-heels, silk stockings and matching brassiere and panties. Seductively, she sauntered backward several more steps to stand at the foot of the bed. He forced his gaze back up to her face and her come-hither expression. 

"Well," the challenge was delivered in her finest bedroom voice. 

The gauntlet had been thrown down. 'En garde, petite amie,' Picard thought to himself as he kicked his boots off. His eyes hungrily raked over the enticing curves of the feminine jewel standing at the foot of the bed. Slowly, purposely, he stalked toward her. His hands gripped the upper edge of his uniform jacket and, in one swift motion, ripped the snaps open down the front pulling it off and dropping it to the floor. Grasping the edges of his shirt and strongly jerking the shirt open, he yanked it off throwing it down to join the jacket on the floor. He tugged at his T-shirt, pulling it free of his waistband, stripping it off over his head and tossing it aside. 

Confident determination blazed in his steel-grey eyes as he stripped his lean, hard body to the waist. Thinking of him fresh from the battles, the picture of raw masculinity, a carnal ache bloomed deep inside Vash. With every step he took toward her, the intensity built. Her eyes drifted over his broad shoulders, past the well-defined muscles of his chest, the bulging biceps of his upper arms and down along the tapering lines of his torso to the taut strength of his stomach. She yearned to let her hands roam over those firm, muscular planes. Every movement he made sent ripples across his sculpted muscles. Of their own volition, her hands moved to caress up from her stomach across the tautness of her abdomen and cup her breasts. Wanting to bare herself totally to him, she reached around and quickly unsnapped the bra just as he reached her. His hands were hot and powerful as they slipped under the straps and stripped it from her. She gasped as his hands replaced the satin, his thumbs drawing deliberate circles around the aching nipples. 

Fingernails dug into the tense muscles of Picard's shoulders as he gently teased the hardened peaks of her breasts. Her head rolled back, exposing the graceful curve of her throat. His mouth blazed a moist trail down her neck stopping to suck strongly at the sensitive skin along the side of her throat. His hands left her breasts to travel down, past her flat stomach, moving lower. Swiftly, he slid her panties down the length of her legs dropping them to the floor. His fingers invaded and stroked the very center of her desire searching for her body's rhythm until her hips started to move against his hand. As he nuzzled the skin under her earlobe, he rumbled with satisfaction, "Right there, chere? Oui, right there." 

The timbre of his bedroom baritone reverberated against the tender skin of her neck. The sensation sent shivers racing along her spine. The knot of desire in Vash's stomach was so tight that her whole body quivered. His fingers stroked her with the skill of a maestro, taking her to near insanity. As his fingers caressed and filled her erotically, her entire body felt like it was made of liquid flames. Clenching his shoulders and twisting in his grasp, she ground out in frustration, "Dammit, Jean-Luc. Just fuck me." 

Arching an eyebrow at her tone, Picard stepped back to quickly dispose of his trousers. Pulling her into his arms, he slid his hand down to grip her graceful thigh drawing it up to his hip and wrapping her leg around his waist. He placed a knee on the bed behind her and carefully carried them both onto the bed. Not able to deny his own burgeoning needs any longer, he began moving and like a mirror image of his own need, she matched him motion for motion. 

"Now, Jean-Luc . . . Now. . . Oh God! . . . Now!" Vash panted wantonly. Her hands clutched at his back, drawing long, red welts as she desperately tried to pull him closer. She arched herself helplessly into his movements, trying frantically to quicken the pace. The overpowering pressure mounting inside her magnified every sensation adding to her raging need. 

Picard's eyes never left Vash, mesmerized by the look of total ecstasy she wore on the delicate features of her face and the way her arousal had caused her ivory skin to flush. Collapsing onto her, his body was damp and his breathing labored from the physical exertion. After a long moment, he raised himself up on his forearms and gazed down at her expectantly. Sounding incredulous, he prompted, "Just 'fuck' me?" 

"Okay, so it wasn't the most eloquent statement I could have made. However, it did achieve the desired outcome," Vash defended herself, stretching indulgently. 

"This particular outcome was assured the moment you walked into the bar," he retorted with a rueful chuckle rolling to lay on his back next to her. 

"Yes, but you were taking too long," she baited impishly. 

"Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle." He reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. 

"Well, maybe I should have just reset the parameters on the holonovel of 'Velvet Chains' so the Raven character resembles you. That would have taken the edge off." 

"Really?" Picard rolled to his side and began lazily drawing patterns on the smooth skin of her stomach. "There's a strip joint in the Dixon Hill program. I've always wondered how you would look as the featured performer." 

"You wouldn't need to reprogram the holodeck for that."   
  
**Finis** 

* 'Velvet Chains' by Constance O'Banyon is a real, published bodice-ripper and one of our favorites. 


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